The Juliet Stories Read Online Free PDF

what she’s trying to forget — something specific dissolved into an emotion, a crack of fear opened in the wall of her rib cage, a splinter of cold fingering its way inside.
    Sweat pastes them together. Something has to.
    It is dawn. The children and Gloria rise early to admire the new truck. The men are on their way.
    “Call as soon as you get there,” says Gloria.
    “No phones,” says Jason from the driver’s seat, his face sectioned into nerve endings, cigarette burnt down to the filter as he lights a fresh one off the old.
    “No phones?”
    “No phones.”
    “But how will we know you’ve arrived safely?”
    “Assume the best!” says Bram, squashing Keith and Juliet like bugs against his ribs. “Always assume the best.”
    “Don’t worry,” Andrew says to the children. “We’ll look after your dad. We’ll take good care of him.”
    “Okay,” says Juliet. She would agree to most anything Andrew says.
    “It’s going to be fine,” Bram whispers into Gloria’s hair, fingers tangled, stroking. The grown-ups gaze the other way, but not the children, for whom every scene is open, yet closed. “It has to be done. It’s a routine trip, nothing to worry about. You’re strong.”
    “I’m not.” So quietly Juliet might be wrong.
    “You are.”
    “The sooner we go,” says Jason, “the sooner you’re back.”
    “So long! Farewell! ¡Adios! Goodbye!” Andrew leans across Bram to call out the window as Jason taps beep-beep on the anemic horn and the white truck bumps down the potholed street and around the corner, ignoring a broken stoplight.
    Goodbye, Juliet waves in return, practically frantic.
    “Can we look for the library?” asks Juliet.
    “No.” Gloria paces. After she’s gone around the room a few times, she disappears into her bedroom.
    The children gnaw stale bread. Gloria purchases it fresh from a bakery just beyond the seminary gates, but it arrives out of the oven dry and rough-textured, tasting of the mould it promises to grow.
    Keith places his slice on the tabletop, one hole gnawed into the centre, and rests his head on his wrists.
    Cigarette smoke trails through beads. What is she doing behind there? She is reading a book — not the Bible but like the Bible, given to her by her parents, Grandma Grace and Grandpa Harold. Juliet has opened its sunrise cover and skimmed its soft pages. One entry for every day of the year, a passage of scripture, a meditation on which to reflect, ending with a suggested prayer, each sounding very much like the others: God, greatness, goodness, love, Jesus, spirit, forgiveness, obedience. Something else about the book: Bram would never read it, not because he doesn’t like books about God or Jesus, but because this book is a book written for women. Only a woman would read it, ashes and tears marking the cracks between the pages.
    Keith coughs tenderly. Juliet wishes for jam or peanut butter or honey. Emmanuel renders his slice inedible, crumbling it into minute fragments, seeding the hairs on his head.
    Someone should tell someone something, but when Juliet says, “Mom?” there is no reply.
    By noon, Keith’s face and chest will have broken out in red dots. Before suppertime, Gloria will discover that her favourite red blouse is missing from the pile of clothes returned by Bianca. Near midnight, Emmanuel, speckled and inflamed, will thrash off the bedsheets. Gloria will wake at three in the morning to rise and compulsively count the cloth diapers, twice. She will meet Juliet, stumbling to the bathroom, and tell her that some are missing.
    The smell of a burning cigarette wreathes Juliet’s dreams.
    ———
    “I think this is a pock.” Juliet thrusts her wrist under Gloria’s nose. Gloria glances with disinterest. Emmanuel lies naked on her bed, spattered red from the crest of his scalp to the fat soles of his feet.
    “It’s very itchy,” says Juliet. She’s finished the adventure story about the fire and the horses. She’s read a